


Wash Away

by sebastian2017



Series: Jewish Fics [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Jewish Character, Character Study, Jewish Holidays, M/M, Self-Reflection, Taschlich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 02:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebastian2017/pseuds/sebastian2017
Summary: One quiet, lonely morning, before Yom Kippur, Erik makes his way to the sea in search of forgiveness.





	Wash Away

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lovely, wonderful, beautiful comic of this fic on cly-1018's art blog (cly-art.tumblr.com) which can be found [HERE](https://cly-art.tumblr.com/post/178221060439/this-comic-is-part-of-a-collab-with-sebbym17#notes)
> 
> CW: mentions of Nazi, qu*er used as a slur (ish), death mentions

Most people assume Erik is non practicing. That he’s an atheist or that he views his Judaism as nothing more than a horrific past he hid away or an excuse for the way his hair curled. In truth, one of Erik’s biggest regrets in life has always been the way his nomadic lifestyle prohibited from settling anywhere, finding community at some synagogue, and being constant in his prayers and worship. With how much he travelled, and the places he usually visited, Erik was more often than not, not even accessible to a synagogue. But he still recites the Shema twice a day, like a nice Jewish boy, and he never fails to recite Kaddish on the appropriate anniversaries, and when holidays rolled around, he made every effort to to be present for at least Torah services, even if he had to sneak away right after. 

 

This year was the first of Erik’s life that he missed Rosh Hashanah willingly, without war or imprisonment holding him back. It had simply passed him by, an afterthought amidst fighting for liberation and hiding away from authorities. Erik doesn’t feel shame. The pursuit of justice is important. It brings him closer to G-d, probably more so than a day in a synagogue full of strangers would. It still pains him though, in a way, to think that this might be his life now, too full to stop a moment for a day in shul, that he’d never settle down and find a community of his own like he used to have as a very, very young boy. It’s a dull ache of longing in his chest, one that resonates deeply enough within him to drive him to a beach one early morning, a few days before Yom Kippur. Perhaps he didn’t have the time to devote to a day of fasting and praying, but surely he can spare an hour to go down by the waterside and cast away his sins. G-d knows he has plenty. 

 

And so, early morning, before the rest of the house has woken, Erik puts a hunk of bread in a paper bag and takes it with him as he walks to the shore, just a few hundred meters away from their safehouse. There isn’t another human besides his comrades for miles, but Erik waits until reaching the very edge of the water before he takes his helmet off, laying it on the sand beside him. The sea is beautiful, more so when it remains yet undisturbed by the waking world. It’s fitting they should happen to be by the sea this week, given how often they move through safehouses. Erik takes it as a sign that he’s meant to be here, clinging desperately to the fading strings of his heritage. 

 

It’s almost beautiful enough to let him forget of another beach, a hundred miles away. 

 

Methodically, Erik takes off his boots and socks, leaving them by his helmet. He rolls his trousers up to his calves, so he can step forward and stand where the water laps at his feet with every wave. Erik simply stops for a moment to sigh and close his eyes. It’s just him. No family, no congregation, no rabbi. Erik doesn’t feel the need for formal prayers and blessings and chants when he’s alone. It brings back too many memories to bear on a lonely morning. G-d will forgive him, he’s sure. 

 

For a long moment, Erik simply stands and breathes. He listens to the waves, to seagulls flying past and palm leaves rustling high up above him. He feels the sun on his skin, the water at his ankles and the sand between his toes. He reminds himself to feel, to be alive. The world has come to a new year, and so has he. Even if he sometimes feels his world tumbled around him in the last year. When he’s ready, Erik takes the bread out, feeling it out in his palm. It’s his mind playing tricks on him, he knows, but it feels heavier than a piece of bread ever should, weighed down by the heavy burden of his transgressions. 

 

“You haven’t been very good to me. And I supposed haven’t been good to You, either,” Erik says, aloud. He doesn’t think G-d, if there is one, is sitting around all day, waiting to listen to him. But it’s easier to speak aloud sometimes, regardless. “Today isn’t about You, though, I guess. It’s about last year. And this year. And me.” 

 

Erik trails off before his voice can break. He doesn’t allow himself to think of it often. In a year, he’d somehow fallen in love, found home and family… and lost it all once more. At his own hand, it could be said. Most days, Erik is willing to argue that he is blameless. He won’t today. Today, Erik just tears off pieces of bread wordlessly and tosses them into the waters.  

 

He thinks of years back, of his mother dead on an office floor because he wasn’t resilient enough to save her and of the immeasurable time lost with Anya before she’d died, because work had been more important. Mostly, though, this year alone has given him plenty to think of.

 

He thinks of the countless Shabbats passed without so much as a candle lit in their honor, of holidays missed, of the bitterness that will always be in his soul to know that he spends his days working for men who once followed a Nazi. 

 

He thinks of Raven, the way he strung her along and brought her so far from home. It should be her choice whether she stays or goes, but Erik knows he fed ideas he shouldn’t have, fueled by unrelated anger. It’s too late now to mend the relationship he broke between siblings. He doesn’t feel it merits even a fake promise to do better in the coming year. 

 

He thinks of the moments he stole, kisses in darkness and lingering touches when no one could see. When he casts it away, Erik doesn’t know if it’s being a queer he regrets, or rather, the heart he broke. It doesn’t matter if he’s unsure. He’s sent it out into the world. Let the heavens decide. 

 

He thinks of the violence of the year, and though he regrets it as much as he did his Nazi hunting - that is to say, not at all - his heart does ache when he thinks of who he’s doubtlessly disappointing when he runs off to do all of this. He wishes victory for their kind didn’t involve so much pain for themselves. 

 

Erik continues to cast pieces into the waters, thinking the whole while of where he’s gone astray, the ways he hopes he might better now. He knows he won’t be. This is his life now and Erik doubts it’ll be any holier come next year. But it’s nice to pretend, for a few moments. Finally, when there’s nothing but a single piece left in his hands, Erik stops. His chest feels tight now and he has to breathe deeply through his nose to will away a lump in his throat. 

 

“I wish I knew what You want of me,” Erik whispers. “You push and pull, and it’ll break me one day. Did You show me a life just to rip it away from me? Or is something like that simply never meant for me?” 

 

Erik balls his hand into a fist and tosses the last piece out with as much strength as he can muster, to where the currents will take it away, without risk of a wave bringing it back to his feet, back to his life. He thinks of Charles. There’s almost so much to think of Charles that he regrets not having saved a larger piece. Being foolish enough to think they could ever be true allies; closing himself off so harshly that men like Charles are left behind. Leaving him for dead on that beach; dragging him into this mess in the first place. Going to the house in Westchester in the first place; leaving it so soon. Loving Charles too much; not loving him enough. 

 

Distantly, as if his body were not even his own, Erik realizes there’s a tear rolling down his face. He rubs it away harshly and decides this has been long enough. He should start returning, before everyone else wakes up. He grabs his boots in one hand, to carry on the walk, and picks his helmet up once more. As he puts it on, he notes with bitter amusement a piece of bread that has washed ashore. It’s fitting, he supposes, and wonders which it is for only the briefest of moments before reminding himself, it doesn’t truly matter anymore. 

 

Perhaps Erik is cleansed and ready to begin a new year, but as he turns and begins his walk back, he reminds himself of what he’s nearly forgotten. It matters very little what he does on one quiet morning. Magneto has work he can’t abandon. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Easy fast to those observing Yom Kippur tonight and tomorrow!
> 
> for questions, prompts, or chatting I can be found on tumblr at [sebbym17](http://sebbym17.tumblr.com/)


End file.
